Tales for Osihra
by Thairalumen
Summary: Short stories for Osihra, my friend and 'Captain' of many a Raid.
1. The First Tale

_DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING IN THE WORLD OF WARCRAFT, SAVE MY OWN EXPERIENCES WITHIN IT, AND MY REACTIONS TO IT, INCLUDING MY IMAGINATION BEFORE, DURING AND AFTER MY INTERACTION WITH IT AND ITS LORE. If anything, the World of Warcraft owes many a nod and bow of acknowledgement to Tolkien, Lovecraft, Carrol, GRRM, Monty Python, the folklore and mythology of at least five world cultures, certain well-written schoolbooks, and a plethora of other literary sources that was the joy of adventure for children and adults of all reading ages, everywhere, which is why we love it even more._

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><p>She was flying high above the once-golden Vale of Eternal Blossoms aboard her silken, undulating carpet she had made, when a thought pierced through her mind. It was a mental communication from one of her friends.<br>_'Tell me a story!'_ he had demanded out of the blue.  
>She stopped for a second, startled by the request.<br>_'Tell me a bedtime story,'_ the demand returned.

She smiled to herself, and replied with a thought, _'Very well, then.'_

* * *

><p>THE FIRST TALE<p>

In a time before Time, in a place we all know, the world had begun.

Earth was molten fire, the skies ablaze with its light. Nothing could breathe yet, for Fire ate Air with a terrible appetite, and left nothing of it.

Such that one day, there was no Air left, and Fire had to eat Earth.

Earth could only boil, and in its great heat, could neither quench Fire's thirst nor feed its hunger, so, eventually, Fire died down. Earth gradually froze into solid rock, cooling until it cracked. Cold and hard, the only warmth it had was from the Sky, who always watched Earth lovingly with two burning eyes. But that warmth was not enough to keep Earth from breaking further and further, its cracks getting deeper and deeper. If left in this state, it would eventually break completely, and be no more.

The Sky had no other companion in the vast Universe, and grew sad that Earth would die and leave it alone. They would disappear together.

Dumb, mute Earth knew nothing of this. It was simply happy that silly Air and angry Fire had left it be, and thought of the cracks as scars of battle, showing them with pride to the Sky. Sky could see, deep inside the cracks, sleeping traces of Fire. It could see what Earth refused to feel.

Sky, who touched the world outside Earth, and spoke with the stars, knew the truth was different.

Earth was choked, burnt, and dried. It would soon be no more.

Sky wept for sorrow, its tears falling on Earth, filling its cracks.

The tears were Water, a newborn.

Water laughed as it ran through the cracks of Earth, hissed and roiled with pain when it came across the traces of fire, jumping up to Sky, then falling back down again.

It repeated this so often, that it forgot why it had begun, and continued this dance. Rain.

The dance moved the space around Water. Wind.

Air was reborn.

Soon, Earth's wounds healed, and it softened in some places.

It turned upwards, but could not see. It had no eyes. It could only feel warmth and cold.

Sky had wept so much, it had all but lost the light of one eye, which was now pale silver.

Also, Sky could only keep one eye open at a time, so Light took turns in coming and going between them.

Earth knew something was wrong.

Earth shook.

It shook, and reached up to Sky, trying to soothe it. Mountains were born.

Water was thrown from side to side as Earth moved, and complained.

Feeling this, Earth stopped.

Earth had never shown recognition of anything before. Sky was so happy, it began to sing.

Its song was of colour and Light.

So beautiful was the song, that neighbouring stars came to see what was the matter.

So happy were some of the stars, that some of them decided to stay.

So long did the stars stay, that they forgot their place in the heavens, and made a new home on Earth's back.

They spoke to every mountain, every valley, every bit of Water, in the Language of Light.

Air listened, and repeated the language in Sound.

Hearing Sound, the earth-bound stars knew this was a new language, Speech.

Words spoken by stars forged light, sound, earth air and water into Life.

Things that had Life could move, could think, could speak.

All things.

Soul was born.

It lived in all things.

And thus the world began.

All that lived, from the very small to the very large, from insects to trees to rocks had self-awareness, could move and communicate. Among them, there were those that took upon themselves 'The Singing', and all who heard it understood.

In time, some of the larger things began to settle, and, having chosen the best resting-places, went into a long, long sleep. Mountains, who had reached to Sky in friendship, and Trees, who were born of the stars' Speech. Always dreaming, never fully awake.

The smaller things, seeing that their movement was now impeded by new barriers of rock and forest, eventually settled down as well, but they did not sleep. They roamed, but within the new borders that divided the face of Earth.

The only ones who could traverse all distances regardless of what stood in their path were The Singers. They sang to all living things, both Dreamers and Wakers, keeping the flow of awareness as one. This flow sank deep into the memory of Sleepers, but the Wakers, who were impatient and constantly moving, did not listen for too long at any one time, eventually forgetting all but the deepest flow of Life in all things. They forgot the skill of Speech, or, rather, changed it from the long, complex Words of the Stars to simpler sounds: grunts, squeals, noiseless sounds.

The Singers could still understand all, and speak with all. Thus were born the first Shaman, of many different forms. They roamed Earth and bound all Life and Matter till they, too, settled into different Aspects of the living world.

Later descendants of the stars would call themselves the Kaldorei, or 'Starborn'.

Earth itself would calm and flourish, working hand-in hand with Air, Water, and even Fire, and be known as 'Az-Eroth', 'The Great Earth'.

..and here it is we stand, my friend.


	2. The First Runeblade

You are a Death Knight, my friend.

You once were a member of our proud people, but had been taken in battle, and transformed into what you are today.

I see the runeblade at your back. Show it to me.

Ah, yes. Black, blue. Colours of bruising.

See that light coming from the runes. Such power!

But do you know how the first runeblade came to be?

Sit down awhile. We have time till the next battle.

_(she looks across the battlefield, bestrewn with dead orcs of the Iron Horde)_

The very first runeblade ever recorded in history -of Azeroth or of Draenor- was not that famous Frostmourne, made by the orc-shaman Ner'zhul of the Shadowmoon.

_(looks up from the battle-scene towards her friend)_

Did you not know? The Lich King, his armour and his blade are all of orcish origin. It is not that blonde human boy with a grudge, no, not Arthas. He was a pawn.

Humans _are_ foolish.

_(grins)_

The power behind The First Lich King was half orc, half Eredar. Yes, the same Eredar who were the people we now know as Draenei. This is their second camp, Draenor, before it got blown up by Ner'zhul trying to leave it. He was under the bidding of Kil'jaeden the Eredar, backed by that fallen Titan, Sargeras.

Yet it was not their corrupt forging that first made its way into the world as a weapon of runic power.

The first-ever runeblade in all recorded history was **_Elvish_**, my friend.

_(she lets that sink in)_

Made for none other than the leader of the Highborne,...yes, _those_ Highborne. Immortal favourites of Queen Azshara. The magic-wielding elite of the ancient Kaldorei, or Night-Elves as we know them today.

When was it made? Hmm.. _(calculates)_ between ten to thirteen thousand years ago, during the time the Highborne started messing with powerful magics and the Well of Eternity.

He saw the danger of their trying to summon the fallen dark Titan Sargeras, and had the common sense to refuse to be transformed into a satyr -oh yes, Satyr were once Kaldorei, as were the Naga. The Naga were formed when Azshara answered the call of an old God...

_(she trails off as a carrion bird starts picking at an orc warrior's corpse)_

Anyway. He and some of the Highborne started to work against their Queen and fellows, slowing down the opening of that damned portal between this and the demon worlds. He contacted Tyrande Whisperwind when she got captured- yeah, imagine _Tyrande_ getting captured by a satyr, not even an army...

Satyr or army, he and his people helped her when she escaped.

Neltharion - Deathwing- and other dragon aspects also came into the story, but what basically happened after that was that the Well of Eternity blew up, Azshara lost, the 'ordinary' Kaldorei, together with the rebel Highborne, won and the Kaldorei druids took over- and forbade magic.

_(Looks incredulously at her friend)_

_Imagine_. US. No arcane magic. Feh. I suppose that is what he must have felt as well, because he separated from the Kaldorei, calling them cowards for running from magic, and took his people -the rebel Highborne- east across the sea, passing the Maelstrom which was where the Well of Eternity was, spinning like crazy and sucking everything and anything that went too near, right into it.

If you notice, the Zeppelins between Orgrimmar and Undercity still avoid that great big vortex. Anyhow.

_(Picks up a pebble and throws it at the carrion bird, and hits. It flies off.)_

At first they settled in Tirisfal.. You know, that creepy place? It seems that the creepiness had been there since forever, because they felt it and left. Too much evil slept under that land, they had decided, so they went up north. Why didn't they go south? Ah, the humans had already settled there, apparently? I don't know.

So they went up north, and occupied what was the sacred land of the Amani trolls. There they built a new kingdom, said goodbye to Elune and embraced the Sun, calling their own copy of the Well of Eternity, 'The Sunwell'. Cast a spell to keep the season locked in Springtime after so many of them died horribly due to the cold. That is why Eversong Woods are always so beautiful.

Their labours continued until he became the leader forefather of all High and Blood Elves, Dath'Remar Sunstrider, High King of Quel'Thalas.

Yes, friend. He was our first king, before our people were slaughtered. Ah, yes, the runeblade.

Its name? Felo'melorn, 'Flamestrike' of our people.  
>Mages had named a favourite spell of fire after that, it seems.<p>

_(she smiles)_

Those of us who call themselves Sin'dorei - Blood children - today, are asked to go to visit the Shrine of Dath'Remar as soon as they are initiated on the isle of Quel'Danas. That was our first High King.

His descendant, King Anasterian, who ruled for about three thousand years, used Felo'melorn against the Amani trolls, whose empire we had so inconveniently taken.

_(chuckles, then frowns)_

Humans proved themselves useful for a change. The noble house of Arathi had helped us win.

_(looks grim)_

Fools they may be, but help us they did.  
>And never do our people forget any good or evil done to us.<p>

King Anasterian was so grateful that he pledged himself an ally to House Arathi- to the point of joining the Alliance to defend our people against the Scourge.

_(throws back her head, and laughs out loud)_

We were once with the Alliance, can you believe that?

_(Shakes her head, still laughing, then gets serious)_

He fell to that snivelling human brat in a cursed orc's shell, Arthas.

King Anasterian had used Felo'melorn to hack off the forelegs of the Lich-King's mount. Seems the brat's love for his pony was so great, he got very angry and killed our king for it, using Frostmourne's full weight to kill both King Anasterian after breaking his blade.

Frostmourne consumed his soul there and then.

Stupid, stupid humans.

Killed a king for a _horse_.

_(reflects)_

Speaking of stupid, do you know who was the last to be seen wielding Felo'Melorn?

None other than our dear misguided Prince, Kael'thas Sunstrider, son of that noble Anasterian.  
>Waste of his forefathers, I say.<p>

_(pauses)_

Had Felo'melorn remade from its pieces- probably his single greatest achievement.  
>It is lost now, probably taken into Outland by that undeserving whelp.<p>

_(almost spits out that last word before she frowns, black brows rising to the sides in a sharp 'V' before relaxing as she grows thoughtful)_

You know, it is said to be golden, twin-bladed, with the wings of the Elven golden phoenix for a hilt. Had the fine-lined runes of our kin, ..nothing like what you get from the Ebon Knights or Acherus.

After it was reforged, it was the first blade _ever_ to parry Frostmourne. It was that fool Kael'thas wielding it while fighting Arthas. He is said to have fought well that day.

Unlike human, orcish or any other nation's weapons, Elvish ones only grow _stronger_ when they are reforged.

_(inhales wistfully)_

Just like our people.

_(a battle-horn sounds in the distance)_

They call for us.

Ready your spells..

_(rises to her feet)_

..and thank our ancestors we still have the power to wield them.

_(faces the oncoming enemy, magic blazing from her hands as she roars)_

**FOR ANASTERIAN!**


	3. How Silvermoon Got Its Phoenix

Ah, there you are. This is a good feast.

Congratulations on your latest victory in battle. Your guild seems to be doing well.

_(Shakes hands with him, and with all those seated, and looks around before sitting down)_

Looks like they have gathered all the elven guilds to celebrate.

_(Notices some blue colour in the throng, and snorts in derision)_

Including the Silver Covenant? Regent Lord Theron is too kind.

Ah, yes, I have decided to wear the tabard of Silvermoon today. I like the way the golden wings of our phoenix motif look, to be honest.

_(looks down to examine it)_

I wonder why it is so similar to the roof-decorations of the Kaldorei. The Night Elves.  
>Wait, don't tell me. Shared ancestry. Right.<p>

But why else do we keep it? We seem to be using it with a greater frequency than the Kaldorei. I mean, it is _everywhere_ in Silvermoon. In fact, anywhere we have a settlement of any kind. Our blacksmiths seem to like it, too. I have seen a mace shaped like four golden wings.

I wonder why it came to be so beloved of our people?

Resilience, perhaps? The immortal Phoenix, rising from the ashes, time and again?  
>What with all the wars we've had..<p>

_(looks thoughtful)_

For once, it would be nice to enjoy history without war. I'd even welcome the Silver Covenant back. All of our kin back. We could really start anew.

Ah, thank you, cup-bearer.

_(takes a deep draught of the liquid ruby that is the pride of Silvermoon's vintners)_

Aah, that's the stuff. Can't imagine how dwarves enjoy that murky, bitter froth of theirs. Or the Pandaren, for that matter. Flinging peppers into the mix won't save mud-water from being what it is.

Where was I? Ah, yes. Phoenixes. The whys and wherefores.

I'll spin one for you, right off the bat.

* * *

><p>HOW SILVERMOON GOT ITS PHOENIX<p>

* * *

><p><em>(the elven warlock straightened her back, took a deep breath, and began)<br>_

You see, Captain, we were once the oldest race on Azeroth- the Starborn, the Kal'dorei.  
>There was among them those who discovered the practice of magic. These called themselves The Highborne.<p>

They were led by the one who ended up rebelling against the very system he had created, escaping with the rebel Highborne and surviving Kaldorei.

Fearing the power of arcane magic, the Kaldorei forbade its practice. The founders of our people, the rebel Highborne, segregated from them, and stayed true to the old path of arcane magic, whereas the Kaldorei diverted to druidism.

_(rolls her eyes in disgust before she takes a sip)_

Imagine a whole army of Mylunes.

You know, Mylune, that squeaky Dryad obsessed with small, furry things?  
>Yes, that's the one. Imagine an army of <em>that<em> - but with beards..

..and leaves for chest-hair.

Our good people, seeing sense, left our moonstruck, tree-hugging cousins behind, and set up their own shenanigans..

_(she takes a deep drink as her eye catches a handsome Sin'dorei specimen talk to another a few tables away)_

..for which they needed a new symbol, if you will.

_(extends her golden cup for a refill as a server passes by) _Thank you.

_(turns back to the group as she continues talking)_

The High King was holding a regular meeting, and, not wanting to waste time on such a subject, nor wanting to belittle the choosing of an emblem of his nation, left it to his councillors decide, before moving onto the next topic on the agenda, for, you see, in those days, there were plenty of ..'people'..who wanted us dead.

The councillors, being what councillors are, decided to relay the task to a committee they had elected- from among their own kin, of course. This was an important task, remember.

The committee decided that such an important task needed more people to take care of it, so they relayed it to a sub-committee, which they had formed by selecting its members from their second-degree cousins.

This sub-committee, in turn, delegated it to a task group that consisted of lower-ranking, but much busier third-degree cousins by marriage twice removed, who shelved the plan due to frequent tavern breaks.

During one of those tavern breaks, one of the third-degree cousins by marriage (twice removed) to the second-degree cousins of the committee members had a brainwave:

Leave the decision to the people by holding a contest.

Reward?

'5,000 gold coins!' shouted one.

They laughed.

The treasury did not even exist back then.

So how did all those councillors, committee members, etc. get paid?

They didn't. The main reason they were all hired in the first place was because they already had social rank, and could afford to work for free.

Some of our highest-ranking officials still do not get paid to this day. It offends them, as if they were too poor or weak to have servants or followers to obey their commands without payment. What, you thought servants got paid, too? No, they were just like their masters, they got paid in life's necessities, except for one difference:

Their masters also got paid in prestige. And 'privileges'.

Hence the tavern breaks.

'But, seriously,' one of the task group members said. 'Suppose someone _does_ come up with something good.'

'Our King will pay!'

They all agreed it was a grand idea- right after each one of them decided to take the idea to the King, claiming both credit and reward for themselves.

No one said it, but they all thought it.

Their eyes were burning a little greener that round, and pretending to be happily intoxicated was a bit difficult with ambition running through their veins.

So it was that a proclamation was made, and copies of it distributed throughout the entirety of Elvendom.

Well, not the Kaldorei side. They were too busy hugging trees.

One of the Silvermoon City guards had the decency to put up the city's copy of the proclamation in the tradesmens' quarter. Sure, he was just as sulky as the rest of them, but he was a good lad, poor soul. He was being a bit too optimistic, however, because whoever saw it either laughed, frowned, or shrugged it off.

The reaction was pretty much the same everywhere else, especially in the outlying lands, where survival was more demanding than stopping and reading pretty handwriting.

There was simply no money to be had. Trade as we know it today had not been established yet, and virtually everyone used a bartering system. Trade goods were scarce, and had to be gleaned from forest animals and plants.

Agriculture had not yet begun. A few families had brought seeds from Kalimdor, but it would be a good while before they could harvest flax for linen, or pearl-buds for Moonsilk. Wool was something rare, or unknown, and seen as crude until the Northrend campaigns centuries later. The spell cast by the High King and his Magisters had ensured a constantly temperate Spring climate, so only light material was needed for clothing.

As for metal, it was terribly expensive, and nothing could buy it. They had no access to it if they had not brought their own arms and armour from across the sea. Reforging was all that could be done, augmented by magic. Golden goblets? _(holds hers up, slowly twirling it by the stem) _Hah! We could dream. Back then, it was carved wood for most folk. Earthenware, if they could afford it, or make their own.

With time, some families developed their own trade system. Relations with the human Arathi kingdom to the south were good, and, crude as they might be in their bearing, humans were resourceful creatures, and, having long established their own systems, were able to provide a solution to the budding elven economy.

An offer of charity was received with much surprise and deep impression of the humans' noble character, but was refused outright. The elves may have seemed arrogant in doing this, but they could see ahead. Taking without return would breed resentment over the long run. However, they were desperate, and their desperatation bred a plan.

The families who had come up with the plan were famous for their high skill in making any number of things, from doornails to embroidery to elaborate book-cover hinges. They infused not only magic, but a sense of beauty into all they touched. The Arathi could see this, and marvelled at it, so they gladly accepted these families' terms whereby the humans provided our people with raw material in exchange for finished Elven products.

At first, what was left over of those products would be kept to make what we needed for ourselves.

Our people noticed, in time, that some human-made goods had a certain durability, and even a charm of their own.

Thus both sides developed a pricing system according to the materials and the quality their respective goods were made with. A small yet steady flow of barter trade had begun, where not a single copper was to be seen.

Hence, no-one in the entirety of Quel'Thalas could believe the five thousand gold coin reward. The king would have had to melt his entire family's jewelry to mint the amount, with each family member donating the one or two pieces they owned- down to the seventh-degree cousins, all sacrificing their family heirlooms.

Therefore, being the sardonic, frivolous nation they could be sometimes, our people laughed the idea off. No-one paid it much attention.

No-one, that is, except for the small owner of a pair of large, shining eyes.

Children, you see, can take things very seriously, and one should always be careful with them.

This small eminent person went home running.

The little golden head bobbed behind the counter as she shut the shop-door behind her, the door-bell tinkling. Her elder brother was busy talking to a human customer, her parents were seated at their workshop tables, putting stitches in their respective pieces by the open shop window.

There was a small flash of light as she ran towards them.

'Mother! Father!'

They both looked up, and, noticing the interrupted talk with the customer, frowned.

'There is a contest! To make the city tabard! The reward is-'

'Anda.' Her mother's voice was firm.

She blinked.

Her father looked pointedly towards her brother, then towards her.

She saw the human, a man with brown shoulder-length hair, thick but trim beard, wearing a simple purple robe over what seemed like long leather breeches. They were adorned with her mother's distinctive style of embroidery.

'Oh!' she said, bobbing an awkward curtsey. She tried to remember her common, but greeted him in Thalassian instead.

The man laughed kindly, and bowed to her, hand on his chest.

Her cheeks turned scarlet.

'Forgive her, Master Darion,' said her brother, his deep voice soft as silk in his accented Common. 'She is young.'

'So she is,' said the man. 'Very small.'

She stood there, eyes blazing, and ran quickly to her mother, stood on tiptoe, and tried to whisper in her ear, but could not. Her mother turned her head away, then looked back towards her daughter, sharply.

Little Anda turned towards her father, who shook his head.

She turned towards her brother, who had resumed negotiating with Master Darion.

She stood quietly for a moment before her face flushed scarlet, tiny hands balled into little fists, she all but shouted in Thalassian,

'There is a tabard-making contest! The reward is 5,000 gold pieces!', and looked defiantly at all those in the small room.

Her mother immediately put away her needlework, stood up, and, gripping her by the upper arm, dragged her daughter to the back room, where she set her down firmly on the small wooden stool there, in front of a thick worktable under a small window overlooking the back street.

'You will stay put until you have learnt to behave in public,' her mother said, voice level, steel-strong fingers digging into the small arm till they squeezed out a quiet tear or two.

The door closed behind her, and it was all but dark. She could hear the soft voices of her parents from the room, overlapped by the stronger voice of the human. Chuckles. A little more talk, the tinkle of the doorbell, then silence.

She spent the rest of the afternoon counting the bricks of the rear wall of the building across, listening to cats talk to each other about the latest street treats, and the bird or two who decided to pass through, chirping, interrupted by the occasional soft step or quiet request from one family member to the other within the shop.

Evening came, and her stomach sang for dinner, but only her nose could eat the scent of the meal.

Some more time passed. It was dark, and cool, but she did not know how to close the window-shutters. Her arms were too short to reach out. Besides, it would make the room really dark, and she did not like that.

The door opened, and her mother put an apple on the table, then left again, without a word.

'..' She had opened her mouth to speak, but the door shut before then.

By the time she had finished the apple, her mother had returned. She extended her hand for the apple core. She did not blink at seeing only the stem of the apple, and the bottom end. She assumed Anda was very hungry. She led the little one upstairs, where she had heated water, and bathed her 'little fish' as she used to call her during bathtime.

But there was no 'little fish' that night. The small arms that reached out for a goodnight hug were gently but firmly put down and tucked into the covers.

'Think on what you have done today,' said her mother before leaving the room, candle in hand. They would all soon go to sleep, time and candle-wax being precious.

Anda's eyes would not shut. They glowed in the darkness, looking up at the black ceiling.

The next morning, her cot was empty.

Her mother ran out, passing her father and brother in silent panic as she looked throughout the house. The men did not say anything, but waited for whatever it was to be spoken as they prepared for the day.

Her brother did not wait much longer, but went up to her room, opened the door, and after one hard, searching glance, was out of the house that same minute, pulling his coat on as he ran.

Her father was running in the opposite direction.

It took them all morning, asking whomever they came across, but to no avail.

The little thing had moved under cover of night, and evaded practically all sentries.

When they returned, her mother was waiting inside the doorway, face ashen.

No sooner had she seen her husband and son, than she sank onto the threshold- they barely caught her, and took her inside. She had not touched her work. Breakfast was burnt, with the firewood burnt out.

'She..her coat..' her gaze turned toward the doorway.

There stood Anda's thin summer shoes. The short, leather boots she had received as a gift on her name-day were gone from the modest shoe closet.

'She cannot have gone far,' assured her husband. Her son's eyes said otherwise. 'You have no idea how stubborn she is, have you?' he said. 'I am going to report this. If she has left the area, the rangers will have seen her'. So saying, he left.

Ealeth put his hands on his wife's shoulders for an instant, and she inhaled, recovering herself, went to the mess in the kitchen, cleaned it up while he put out something cold to eat, and lit the fire for something hot to drink. She froze when she noticed two rolls of bread missing. A kitchen towel was gone, too.

They had wasted half a day, but finally settled back to work. For the first time in a few hundred years, Anda's mother pricked her finger, and she cried.

The aforementioned boots, meanwhile, were tucked neatly over a layer of packaged cloth goods, covered by yet another, their owner sleeping soundly in a trade cart as it rumbled its way to Strom, capital city of the Arathor.

You can imagine Master Darion's surprise, after passing several checkpoints, when said boots stuck out of the back door, were followed by their owner, who jumped down, frock, coat, and hair hopping once before settling on a familiar small person.

It was all the man could do to bring himself to speak for a moment.

He looked at her in disbelief, wonder, and concern. She was rumpled, did not look starved, but it would have been an ordeal for any small child to travel alone, hiding, and in darkness.

'What brings you here, child?' He finally asked.

His workers gathered round in a circle, which soon drew the attention of passersby.

Here was a marvel to look at. An elven child!

The wee wisp of a thing collected herself, adjusted her posture, and looked him straight in the eye, as she made a formal greeting,

_'Anu belore dela'na!'_

He looked at her seriousness, and the next instant he and all his men laughed out loud. The human crowd that had gathered was smiling.

'Greetings, little one!' Master Darion bowed. She blushed, and repeated his gesture.

'Why, your parents must be worried sick! We must inform them at once! Here!' he called out to one of his men. 'Send a message to Anarei and Ealeth of Silvermoon that their little one is with me.'

Now, our little friend did not know much Common, but the name of her parents, and her city, she recognised.

_'Azai!' _She corrected herself, and repeated in Common, 'No!'

Master Darion looked at her in surprise, then crouched in front of her.'

'We must take you home, child. But I have business here. You-'

The small blonde head whipped adamantly from side to side. She inhaled, frustrated, before saying, as politely as she could,

_'Good Master Darion. I need your help. There is a tabard contest, and I need cloth and thread. I can make some things for you.'_

It was Greek to them.

They would need an interpreter, but time was running out, and they had their own business to attend to.

Master Darion told his man, 'Wait,' whereupon the little girl relaxed. He stood up, and put his hand on her head. It covered her head like a hat.

'You are a handful, you know.' She blinked, looking straight up to him. He ordered his workers to start unloading, and his bookkeeper to take inventory.

'Come with me..' his speech cut off as he turned when he felt she had disappeared from his side, only to see her reappear from the wagon's entrance, boots first, huffing under the bulk of a package.

Another laugh from the crowd as she made to follow one of the labourers, when the man who was next in line lifted the package from her fingers, which remained open for a second, like her mouth did, in silent protest.

'Strong one, this,' he joked to the other one. 'I will have her for my son.'

Master Darion watched, smiling, arms akimbo. 'I don't need you to do such work for me. Come. You need a hot meal, and I have my job to do. Rest, then we will hear what you have to say.' She did not understand the words as much as guess his intention. She nodded.

His big hand shadowed the back of her head like some sort of halo or shield as he walked beside her to his shop. The crowd made way, some smiling. She trotted beside him without a word, looking in silent wonder at all the people of Strom that she could see.

Here, there were small humans, small like herself. There weren't many children in Silvermoon City. Hardly anyone played with anyone else. The little ones looked at her with what must have been her own expression towards _them_.

One of them reached out, fingers open and upright, and waved his hand, slowly.

Another did the same.

Slowing down, she reached out, awkwardly, and imitated them. They smiled, and started to walk beside her, but their parents pulled them back, said something to them, after which they looked at her, and waved again before disappearing into the streets.

Master Darion's shop was large and roomy. They were greeted by two of his assistants, who started by bowing when they stopped halfway. One of them put her hand to her mouth, stifling a gasp.

Anda started, blushed, and resisted the urge to hide behind Master Darion by bobbing her head, forgetting to bend her knees in her curtsey. She met their eyes the whole time, not to show fear. Her cheeks were belying her, though. Red as peaches in summer.

'She is so _sweet_!' the assistant had forgotten her job for a moment.

'Welcome, dea- Oh? Who is this?' A warm female voice sounded across the shop as it came near.

'We have a little bird from far away,' Master Darion's kindly voice had a certain glow to it now.

The owner of the voice beamed at her, her face above a wide lace collar lining a simple black robe. Her brown eyes were so warm and motherly that Anda felt her heart squelch a tiny little bit, and she almost stepped into the folds of those skirts to lean against the lady's legs and look up to her face, like she used to do with her mother when she was _really_ small.

Mothers know, regardless of race. They know when a baby wants shelter. She opened her arms, and Anda rushed to her, letting herself be held and petted gently on the head.

'Such a wee thing,' cooed the Madam. She looked up to her husband, who had come near her. 'Why is she so far from her nest?'

'We will need an interpreter to find out,' he said, planting a firm kiss each on her mouth and cheek as he passed her towards his desk. 'but she needs to recover. The road is hard on a child'.

The Madam gently pat Anda on her shoulders, and she looked up.

'Come, have a bite and a rest, wee one.'

She crouched.

'What be your name?'

Anda looked, and mouthed the words as she had heard them.

The Madam laughed. 'I..' she pointed to herself. 'I .. am Eris'.

Anda looked, blinked, and, slowly but surely, said, 'I..am..Anda', also pointing at herself.

'Anda.' The little bird nodded. 'Eris,' Eris pointed at herself.

'Eris,' repeated Anda, happily, looking Eris in the eye.

Anda was fed fruit, gingerbread and milk, bathed, and made to give a nap. Eris had given her a nightshift, taking her clothes for washing and mending, if needed.

She could not sleep at first, eyes wide open, looking at everything, from the grain of the wooden rafters to the colour of the air, listening to each and every sound until exhaustion overtook her and she finally fell into a deep sleep.

Eris woke her a short time later, not to eat into her night-sleep. 'Look,' she had said, holding up a dress. 'Isn't it pretty?'  
>It was. A deep-blue frock, its two-layered, loose skirts little below the knee, embroidered in gold thread patterns down the sides of the chest.<br>'Like your eyes,' she added as she put the dress on the foot of the bed.  
>'Dress and come downstairs,' she instructed, miming her words so that the little one could understand.<p>

When Anda came downstairs, there was a moment of silence. Everyone had stopped to take in the sight. Her golden hair and blue eyes reflected in the dress, Anda looked like a veritable princess- until her boots interrupted the illusion.

'Very pretty!' Eris beamed. 'Come.' Being quite busy herself, yet not wanting to let Anda out of sight, she sat her behind the counter, and gave her a thin stick of charcoal and a sheaf of paper.

Delighted, Anda began to draw. Eris smiled as the small thing started scribbling with enthusiasm.

The day ended, they closed shop, and Anda was sent to wash before dinner when Eris decided to take a look at what Anda had drawn.

At first, it was a series of very accurate drawings of herself and her husband. She marvelled at them.

Then there was a drawing of Anda hugging her. It made her stop.

After that it was a series of _designs_. At first floral, simple things, that gradually got more and more complex till they included fully detailed animals, then spiralled into stylised symbols of all the things she had drawn. The final design, she had drawn into a tabard. Eris picked up the work in wonder. Her Darion was looking over her shoulder.

The subject was brought up after dinner, to which an elven guest, resident in Strom, had been invited. Anda had never seen him before. The way they dealt with him revealed he was comfortable with human ways, and they seemed comfortable with his. From his speech, he seemed important, also serious.

He was very surprised to have seen her at table. There were no elven families in Strom. A couple or two, perhaps, but no children. Rarely were elven children ever allowed to wander beyond their own homes. This could be no kidnapping, either. Master Darion was no slaver, and no bandit. He was, however, childless for many years. Was this an arrangement of some kind?

It had taken a good deal of explaining by Master Darion for him to relax. Then they all turned to Anda, and Emissary Dar'Athen, for such was his name, clasped his hands in front of him and asked Anda why she was there. She hesitated, and told her story.

When he was done interpreting her reply, both elves hopped in their seats when the humans threw their heads back and started laughing.

When they stopped, they saw that Dar'Athen was frowning, and Anda was blushing scarlet to her ears.

'Forgive us, dear friend,' said Master Darion. 'But with such a brave and determined daughter, half the world would be ours.'

Eris brought the drawings forward, and Emissary Dar'Athen's brows rose. Especially at the tabard.

The adults all looked at the child. 'Do you want to do this?' asked Master Darion.

Anda listened to the interpretation. '_Yes.'_

_'There is no five-thousand gold coin reward, you know.' _

Anda sat quite still. '_No matter,'_ she said.

_'Who wouldn't want that much money?'_

She looked up. '_We have lived well enough without money so far.'  
><em>She had said that so matter-of-factly that The Emissary had halted before interpreting, and smiled.

Taking courage, the little one continued,_ 'We have no money, but we have ourselves. We need something to mark ourselves.'_

Master Darion had folded his arms, and Mistress Eris smiled like sunshine at hearing that from Emissary Dar'Athen.

_'All I know are stories, but, our people have lived a very long time. Our people have fought a very long time. We did not have money for that. We did everything ourselves. All the soldiers. All they have, we made ourselves. I know because our family makes things for them, too. I know many people who make many things, like us.' _

After this was interpreted, the air in the room suddenly felt very heavy to Anda. Everyone's gaze had fixed onto her. Even the servants had stopped to listen, and were not dismissed. She swallowed, and spoke again.

_'The stories say The Phoenix is the a bird of the Sun, a bird of fire. She is the Queen of all birds. She flies the highest in the sky. She lives for a long, long time, burns, then is born again from ashes. Like us, in the stories. I want us to fly high. We don't need money for that. We can work. We can fight.'  
><em>

The Emissary paused before he interpreted her words.

When he had finished, all the grown-ups in the room looked upon her with an expression she was to learn many, many years later meant something few people ever gave each other: respect.

Master Darion was the first to break the silence. 'And so you shall!'

He exchanged a glance with Eris before saying, 'How would you like to make your tabard here?'

Emissary Dar'Athen's brow rose as he interpreted the Common for her.

She blinked, and nodded. '_I can work for my keep.' _

'She agrees,' Lord Dar'Athen's speech was slow. 'In exchange for work. For her keep.'

'Very well, then. I shall appoint you apprentice for the duration of your stay.'

_'Master Darion wishes to make you his apprentice during your stay.'_

She nodded, dazed.

'Emissary Dar'Athen. I ask you and your people permission to keep little Anda here until she has finished making her design into a sample.'

'We have plenty of material left over for her to practice with,' Eris joined. 'And fine material for the finished work.'

The Emissary took his time before speaking. 'I am not qualified to speak for her family. I would have taken her with me on my journey to Quel'Danas next week. However, such a brave member of my nation has the right to decide her own path. Allow me to confirm with her.'

_'Are you sure of this?' _

Again, another nod, but her eyes were shining now.

'It is settled, then,' Master Darion said,

'Please notify her family to put their minds at rest. I shall bring her back with me in about a month, or whenever the tabard is ready.'

He turned to one of the servants. 'Bring me my writing things, and seal wax. Let's make this official.'

'Clear the table,' Eris said to the other, softly.

_'Your papers are being made. I travel to Quel'Danas within the week. I pass by Silvermoon to inform your parents personally, so they will not have much anger.'  
><em>

She nodded, then remembered her manners. 'Thank you, My Lord.' She thought a little, then stood up, walked a distance from the table, and, facing them all, crossed her arms in front of her, placing her hands on her shoulders as she had once seen a soldier do when being sworn into the army at his conscription, and said,_  
><em>

_'I, Anda, daughter of Anarei and Ealeth, sister to Ardui, by the words of my people, promise to serve and obey the house and the people of Master Darion as apprentice.'  
><em>

Master Darion stood up.

'I do not know what you said, but I think I understand. I accept your words. Welcome aboard!'

Eris stood also. 'Welcome, Anda! Come, sit beside me'. She moved one seat down, and little Anda scurried to sit between her and her husband. They looked at her with delight. The image was to stay with Emissary Dar'Athen for many a year.

'I can deliver her letter of appointment to her parents, so they will be assured,' he said to Master Darion.

'Good idea," the Master said. 'I wouldn't want her parents at my door with anger in their hearts.'

'For such a one, I would bring an army to your door,' said the Emissary coolly, his voice deep.

They locked glances with Master Darion, the latter smiling with mischief.

'I like my new daughter. You had better bring a big army.'

'Gentlemen, _please._' Eris good-humouredly stopped them.

'This is why we need women,' Master Darion took her hand and clasped it in his own. 'And _you_, a wife.'

'I think I may have found her,' Emissary Dar'Athen said as he smiled kindly at Anda. One servant brought parchment, quill, inkwell and seal-wax.

'You are not going anywhere near her until she has earned her Mastership,' drawled Master Darion as he wrote out the certifying letter. 'She will get it from either me, or Eris, or her own kin. Could take twenty to thirty years,' he added as he stamped his ring, bearing his family insignia, into the seal-wax.

The Emissary was smooth. 'Among our people, it takes a few centuries longer.' His friends gave him a look.  
>'Luckily, I can afford to wait.'<p>

The warm laughter that filled the table swirled around her, uplifting her into a good place in the world.

She slept well that night.

Meanwhile, back in Silvermoon, time passed, and the moon had almost waned, with no sign of anyone participating in the contest. It was all but forgotten to the task group that had changed its project to the frequenting of the city tavern, and party-hopping. Their favourite man to mooch off of was none other than our Lord Saltheril.

Yes, he has been partying _that_ long.

Everyone had forgotten about the contest, except for a small tailoring family in the trade district, who had been asked to keep quiet about their little girl being apprenticed to the Master Tailor of Strom. The dignified Emissary Dar'Athen had explained the situation to them, and ensured that the rangers were notified that the case of her going missing was closed, which was quickly struck off the list of a lot of far deadlier priorities.

Upon his behest, the trade route to Strom was fortified, and the lands surrounding it patrolled with more intensity against the Amani trolls. Trade treaties were formally established, setting the bartering conditions established by the families of Quel'Thalas into stone, so to speak.

Increased security from both sides led to more trade, eventually introducing the elves to the deep, rich culture of the dwarves. They could sense the magic and skill instilled into dwarven works, which struck a chord with their hearts, and drew their admiration.

The best defence would have been to actually settle as much of the territory as possible, and a push began to the south, giving birth to the lands of Tranquillien.

Emissary Dar'Athen was put in charge of the operation. The Phoenix had begun to spread its wings south. He kept correspondence with Strom, with all his contacts in the Arathi Empire, including Master Darion. One day, a letter came to him with a box, saying the tabard was ready, and Master Darion would travel on such a day of the month, accompanying little Anda back home.

The box had covers quilted in silken damask, its edges of fine redwood carved in the bold pattern favoured by the humans. He opened it with the small key sent together with the letter. Lifting apart the sheets of coloured tissue paper, he caught his breath.

There it was. Red and gold. The colours adorning all of Quel'Danas, Silvermoon, and Tranquillien. The Phoenix, with uplifted, open wings, was majestic and noble, worked in gold thread. It literally shone out of the box. He reached in, and pulled out the precious silken velvet. It was made to fit a fully-grown man of his people. One in particular.

These humans were not to be underestimated. This Master Darion, on his few visits to the palace, and his frequent visits to all the lands of the elves, had well noted their size and form. He may also be very well connected to the court at Quel'Danas. Enough to secure the fitting-sizes of -

Wasting no time, Lord Dar'Athen quickly penned a reply saying many thanks, and that he would meet them halfway and escort them for the remainder of the way with a group of the Elven Guard. This he handed to the human who had delivered Lord Darion's letter, and, after personally checking his papers and goods were in order, rewarded him with a Note of Quick Passage to enable him to go through elven checkpoints as quickly as possible.

Another letter he wrote with much more care, in infinitely more beautiful handwriting. This he folded and slipped inside his own shirt. He called his people to him, and tasked them with instructions. He then asked for a horse.

They say someone is 'riding Dar'Athen's steed' whenever there is anyone going anywhere at a remarkable speed, or forcing anyone to do things quickly, to this day.

He did not slow down till the gates of Quel'Danas were in sight, drawing in his reins gradually to canter at an easy gait towards the palace, dismounting in one fluid movement, the box under one arm, before leaving his horse to one of the guards to take to the stables.

He made his way to the King's Sanctum, where he presented the letter he produced from beneath his surcoat. It was a petition for an audience with the High King Dath'Remar. He didn't really need one, for all that he did for his people, but it was a matter of protocol and common courtesy.

He was admitted, eventually, to the King's Sanctum. Several others were there.

'Dar'Athen, it is good to see you- why are you sweating?' Our people don't easily sweat. 'Is there trouble?'

'No, Your Majesty,' he replied, ignoring the scrutiny of the other Ladies and Lords present. He put the box on a nearby table, unlocked it, turned it round so it could be opened by whoever was facing him when he held it towards them.

'What do you have there?'

Picking it up, and holding it aloft, Emissary Dar'Athen knelt before his king.

'What is it?'

'Something you requested, Sire.' His eyes were on the floor.

Dath'Remar opened the box, peeled away the delicately-coloured tissue paper and its contents' glow filled the room. On second guess, it must have been Anda's life-magic that had been worked into the gold thread that gave it this particular quality. Dath'Aren lifted his gaze to watch as his king slowly drew the tabard out, enraptured.

'But this! This is-!'

'Yes, Sire.'

'The councillors have done an excellent job! This is marvellous!' One look at the Phoenix, and he had understdood.

Those same councillors were right beside him, and, hiding their surprise, were about to speak when-

'Actually, Sire...'

Thus the High King heard the whole story of how the privileges he had given those around him had drizzled into the wine-cups of the task force who were the umpteenth cousins of someone else's umpteenth cousin in a sub-commitee who were the cousins or siblings of someone else's spouse or uncle who was someone's something in a committee who were the kith and kin of the seven souls that stood beside him in his Throne of Thrones, his Sanctum, the holiest of holies, the pinnacle of strategy, the heartbeat of all the _Quel'dorei_ still breathing after all their ordeals since they had left Kalimdor..

..and how they had all collectively turned his Royal Command into a national joke- at the expense of a little girl.

That same little girl who was the only one in his entire kingdom to take his request seriously, even after hearing there was no reward at the end of it all.

His leather gloves made a sound as their grip tightened on the tabard.

'**_GUARDS!_**'

Thirty heads rolled that night.

The Quel'dorei learnt in no uncertain terms that, in matters concerning the whole nation, the king's command was no joking matter.

A few weeks later, Anarei opened the door of her shop one morning, and almost fell backwards.  
>There he was, standing with a full escort of guards, and an entourage of nobles. Their own High King.<p>

She fell to her knees, making the formal greeting of the Kaldorei -forgetting the new dawn of her people, and all their suffering till they reached Quel'Thalas- in her surprise. It made a shadow of sorrow wash over the faces of all present by the time she realised her mistake.

'Forgive me, Sire!'

'So you have travelled for so long with us? You remember Kalimdor.'

'Forgive me, Sire! I was not expecting-'

'It is I who must apologise, we should have notified you earlier, but that might have put you in trouble,' he said as he strode towards her, squatted down, and lifted her gently by her hands. Fear was there, and sorrow had eaten a little into her face over time.

'Who is it?' Ealeth's voice came nearer from within the shop as he approached its entrance. He saw the King, and was bowing when-

'Why are you holding the hands of my wife?'

They were both standing, hands clasped when they let go that instant. Or were supposed to. Anarei had let go, but the High King held on.

'And what if I refuse to let go?'

'Then I must protest. She is my love.'

'And if I refuse still?' his eyes were twinkling, the shade of a threat dancing dangerously in them.

'Then she will come to me of her own accord, for I am hers.'

He looked at Anarei, whose sad face was now smiling.

'Is that true, Anarei?'

She nodded, her eyes alight. 'Yes, Sire.'

Laughing, he let go, and she went to stand beside Ealeth. 'True daughter and son of my people! Now, where is that gem you have made between you?'

'We have two gems, Sire. Which do you wish to see? The big one or the little one?' Anarei's eyes were shining with pride and mirth. Ealeth put his arm around her shoulder just as Ardui came outside and bowed.

'The little one!' the King replied, laughing.

'She is not in town, Sire. She is expected to arrive within these few days-'

'Today, as a matter of fact,' stated the High King, drawing himself up to full height. Anarei and Ealeth looked at him in wonder, their eyes growing wider as a human trade convoy rolled into view, and halted before the King's Guard.

Master Darion alighted from his wagon, followed by Anda who appeared, sleepy-eyed, hair tousled, wearing the deep-blue dress she had received from Eris. A little Princess.

So this was the morning star who had obeyed his command. King Dath'Remar's smile then could have melted the snow from the mountains of Lordaeron.

Her drowsiness flew from her at the sight of the King, and she was about to make her greeting when she noticed.

He was wearing it. The Phoenix. It was soaring on his chest.

He nodded.

She burst into tears.

Having found out to his delight that it was a perfect fit, the High King had decided to wear little Anda's tabard for all formal occasions. This was the first important state visit on his list.

The entirety of the guards' livery, and all flags and banners were made according to her design.

As she hiccoughed her sobs, she noticed this, and The Phoenix in their banners, and cried further.

High King Dath'Remar walked up to his little champion, and, lightly putting his hands on her shoulders, squatted till he was level with her face. He gently wiped her tears with his hands, which were calloused, and said they knew what a sword was. He drew her gently to himself, and hugged her, stroking her messy hair, tidying it a bit as he did. Swords or no, his touch was so soft that he eventually felt her tiny heart calm down inside her small ribcage.

Still squatting, he held her apart from him. She looked him right in the eye, straight as a spear, pure and sharp as frost-dew.

He pointed to his chest.

'Did you make this?'

She nodded.

'How did you pay for it?'

'...Work.' He glanced up at Master Darion, who bowed deeply.

'I have no gold to give you now.'

'I know,' she sniffed. 'I do not need it.'

The corners of his eyes creased a little as a smile played upon his lips.  
>'So I have heard. But a King's Command is his Word, and a King's Word is his Bond. Whether he gives his Command or his Word, it is for all the nation to follow.'<p>

She blinked.

'You will have your five thousand gold coins, if we have to melt every single heirloom in the kingdom for you.'

'I do not want it!' there was fear in her voice.

'Why not?'

'S-stealing people's memories..F-for m-me..' -she found strength- 'Is wrong.' Her word was final.

'But you have done us a great service! I want to give you a reward, to thank you on behalf of us all.'

Her face scrunched into a frown.

'Then.. Can I ask for anything I want?'

'Yes, little one. Anything you want.'

'As many as I want?'

Everyone burst into laughter.

'Truly a merchant's daughter! Yes, as many as you want!'

'Our people live long.'

'That is correct.'

'Longer than humans.'

'It is so.'

'So Master Darion and Mistress Eris will be dead a long time before I die?'

A moment passed before the King nodded. 'Such is their fate.'

Anda was silent for a while before she spoke up:

'You are the "father of our people"?'

'Yes, little one.'

'So you have many children.'

'Yes,' he laughed.

'My parents have two.'

'Yes..'

'Then you can all spare one?'

Dath'Remar, High King of the Quel'dorei, blinked.

She looked into his eyes, and said, 'I, Anda, daughter of Anarei and Ealeth stand before you. I ask for these things:

First, I go back to Strom. I am an apprentice to Master Darion. I will remain there until Master Darion and Mistress Eris die. I will be their daughter.'

'No!' her mother interrupted, Ealeth's grip on her stopped her from reaching Anda, whom the King was still holding.

The King released her and stood up as she stepped towards her family.

'Mother! Our lives are long. Theirs are not. They have no children. Let me go.'

She turned to find the king and his host looking solemn.

'We have few children here as it is,' said the King.

'I know. It is very empty. But there are many children in Strom. Plenty to play with!' Her eyes were bright. The King looked sad.

Her mother sobbed behind her.

'You will be sorely missed,' said the King. 'Are you sure?'

She turned to her parents. 'Come with me!' Her mother looked up from her father's chest, and reached for her, drawing her into the hug, kissing her head. She looked up. 'Come with me, Mother, Father. Come, Ardui!' she reached out and drew her brother in. 'We can all go, and set up shop with Master Darion. Yes?'

'We will have to talk about it, little one,' Ealeth's voice was gentle. Anda looked at Master Darion, to whom Lord Dar'Athen was quietly interpreting everything. Master Darion looked thoughtful. She turned back to her father.

'Not just talking! Doing also! All grownups do is talk when they don't want to do something!'

She wriggled out of her family's arms and indicating their liege, she said to them,

'It is the Word of a King!'

She turned to him to find said King smiling, along with everyone else in his entourage.

She stood bolt upright in front of him, booted feet planted firmly on the ground, fists to her side, dress fluttering, wisps of hair waving hello and good morning to everyone.

'So! I shall go to Strom! I shall take my family!'

She whipped round to Master Darion, and asked, in Common, _'Can they come with us, Master? Mother, Father and Ardui?'_

_'I would be honoured, Little One. It can be done.'_

Her eyes were blazing. _'THANK YOU, Master.'_

She turned to her family. 'See? It can be done. And we will do it.'

'Anything else, Your Highness?' She turned around to see the king, barely containing his laughter.

'My- what? No matter. We go to Strom. You come, too! Their King is good. His people are happy. They loved me, they ..love?..' She did not know the word for 'respect' yet. 'Emissary Dar'Athen. They would love you, too, King!'

The air around them grew heavy. She had experienced this before. She blinked her awareness of it away and went on,

'If you come, they will see what a great King you are, and who or where I come from. Not a stranger. A friend.'

'But I cannot stay there.'

She had a think.

'I will come and visit you here.'

There was a ripple of laughter. The King put his hand on his heart, and bowed.

'You and your family are always welcome to see me.'

'And you can always come to our house.' She looked to the people with him. 'We cannot fit you all in.'

More laughter.

She turned to her father.

'Father, we need a bigger house.'

Yet another wave of chuckles and whatnot went through the group.

She looked back at them, a frown forming as she thought.

'Right, it will take too much time and too much work.'

'Oh! I also want something else.'

'Yes, Your Grace?'

'My..?' she shook her head, and continued, '...a big.. guest house? for everyone to use. For times like this. People like us only have small houses. So, if merchants come like Master Darion, they can come with more people, and stay longer if they want.'

'But we have a tavern.'

'It is too small. And smelly. A lot of noise. How can they sleep?'

'How do you know?'

She went scarlet.

'I- I wanted cloth and thread for my tabard. My parents would not listen, so I ran away to find Master Darion..'

'Anything else?' he was chuckling.

She thought, and very decisively said, 'More children, please.'

This time, everyone's laughter rang across the entire marketplace.

When it had died down, the King gave her parents a look: his eyes were joking but his voice serious as he asked, 'Is she spoken for?'

'Not that we know of,' said her father, in the same spirit. 'But after today we might start receiving offers.'

'I claim first right,' Lord Dar'Athen's voice sounded over the crowd.

He interpreted the Thalassian for Master Darion, who replied, in Common, _'I'm afraid I won't warrant her hand free if she lives with us in Strom, what with that spirit of hers. You will have to visit often,'_ Master Darion added.

_'With an army?' _

_'As big as you can muster. You will need it._'

_'I am somewhat glad to have you as my future half-father in-law.'_

_'As am I.'_

Lord Dar'Athen relayed what had passed between them in Thalassian, to which Ealeth said,

'Now you have to convince the other half to agree.'

They all laughed again.

Anda looked at them, embarrassed, puzzled.

'Why are you all laughing? Did I make a mistake?.. I mean it. Oh, and one more thing.'

'Yes, Your Eminence.' The High King Squatted low again, to be eye-to-eye with this new Commander of the People.

'Why do you... Never mind. This is _very_ important,' she said in earnest.

'I am listening.'

'When children speak, about important things like this, grownups must _listen_. Like you. Like the High King.'

There was a heavy silence.

'All will be done, Anda daughter of Anarei and Ealeth, sister to Ardui, folk-daughter of mine, foster-daughter and Apprentice of Master Darion of Strom. This, I, Dath'Remar, High King of the Quel'dorei, promise.'

With that, she stepped forward and kissed him on the forehead.

He was known to have used a headguard thenceforward, to guard that place, and his promise.

* * *

><p>And so it is that all of the Quel'dorei came to use The Phoenix as their emblem. Anda's design had set the ground rules for all the heraldry of Sin'dorei -even Quel'dorei- families today.<p>

Children were elevated to high status. In the case of an emergency, or where justice was to be passed, they sought the counsel of a child. If any child had an opinion on a situation, it was taken into consideration. There was also arranged a trip for the children of one region to visit the other, staying at each others' homes, arranged yearly till war tore the region between the two.

Councillors and other similar people were now selected by a harsh examination process, regardless of family tree. Whoever was chosen had to pass theoretical and practical tests. Courage and hard-working attitudes were surefire winners, but the irony was, none of those chosen wanted their positions.

They were forced to do their King's bidding, which they were doing without his interference anyway, so why work under him? Because he needed them. He needed more people like them working under his name.

The added bonus was that they got more leverage and 'privileges', little of which they could spare the time to exploit, and the minus was that they had more people asking them to do more things, lined up at their doors.

A Traders' Tavern was built- The Wayfarer, where we sit now. It was much bigger in the past, and could house up to five full, twenty-wagon convoys at any one time. This is how we eventually were able to buy _these_. _(holds up her golden goblet for a refill)_. Master Darion got extra privileges. He and his workshop, along with Anarei's, were the only ones to supply the royal house of Sunstrider, and the armies of Quel'Thalas with its needs.

He was issued a special pass, that he or his men carried on their travels to our lands: a marker cut of crystal: a 'Pass of High Standing' that deemed Master Darion, and all his registered men free to pass through the entirety of Quel'Thalas without question or hindrance.

Lord Saltheril was banned from partying inside Silvermoon City, or any other city or settlement of Quel'Thalas. Hence he took to the woods, still mooching Silvermoon's supplies for his eternal parties of moochers. Can't afford the silver, so he sends the random unfortunate youth who start out in the world, if they are stupid enough to cross paths with him, to get his stuff for him- at _their_ expense, of course. Why would a Lord _pay_ in coin?

As for what happened to Anda, she remained with Master Darion and Mistress Eris till she earned her Mastership. Her family had been given places and positions in his shop, which flourished extraordinarily since then. For one, it made superior, ethereally beautiful things. For the other, it had the world's most beautiful boy and girl in it. Ardui had to learn, at an overly young age, the fine art of permitting customers to court him without either side getting hurt in the process.

In the end, he decided to join the army of the Arathor. His father was furious, and his mother almost spiteful that his skilled, fine hands would be risked and even wasted in war, but Ardui held his ground.

Anda had accepted, but with so much grief, that he agreed to enlist in the citizens' militia as a reserve soldier instead of a full one. Dividing his time and space between tailoring and combat training lessened the ladies' (and some gentlemen's) pressure on him.

They all made wonderful friends who stayed with them all their lives. It was too much on Ardui, however, and his quiet, loyal heart broke with each friend that left him due to war or age. He had a streak of white hair in his golden locks- far too early for a race that could live tens of thousands of years.

When Thoradin's Wall was breached, people speak of a 'white flame' that flew with much rage in the ranks of the Arathi army, felling band after band of the Horde. He has not been seen since. Nothing is known of him except that he went by the name of 'Koltira'.

As for Anda, she lived between two homes in Strom- her parents' and her foster parents'. When Master Darion and Eris left this world, she inherited their shop and trade routes. It is she who introduced coin to our people, eventually. She extended our trade to Ironforge and Silvermoon.

When the Arathi fell, she did not leave them until the Scourge hit Quel'Thalas, where she moved back to Silvermoon City.

It is a well-known fact of Silvermoon that, for centuries now, all its top families have secretly contended for the hand of Anda to marry her into their bloodlines. Some situations went awry, others violent, but most were humorous and in good cheer. She was and remains the prize of many a soldier, many a noble. What started as a joke has remained a serious quest for betrothal since. People undertaking impossible quests with many contenders are said to be 'seeking the hand of Anda' or if they succeed, they are said to have 'won the hand of Anda'.

She is also the only trader in a Horde city that still carries trading rights with humans, the humans of Arathi, Stormwind, and Lordaeron. It is said that the apple trees in Stormwind were from the pips of the apples grown in the orchards of Eversong that she had eaten the night she ran away, so long ago.

Now?

You can still find her in the city. She is the one and only clothier of Silvermoon.


End file.
